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222
Le juif errant.
I have seen how fruitful ill can be,
And to live beyond the old world's glory,
Two new worlds arising from the sea.
    Evermore
Turns the earth I wander o'er;
    Evermore, evermore!

God for punishment hath changed me.
Love to all that die my worn heart bears.
But the wretch for whom a home is smiling,
Far from all the sudden whirlwind tears.
Many a beggar comes with eye imploring
For the boon wherewith alone I bless,
Who can find no pause to grasp, in passing,
Even the hand I long in his to press.
    Evermore
Turns the earth I wander o'er;
    Evermore, evermore!

Underneath the tree in blossom,
On the turf, or where cool waves rejoice,
If T strive to soothe my lonely anguish,
Loud I hear the whirlwind's raging voice.
Ah! what matters it, thou angry heaven,
This short respite snatched from wrath divine?
Is then all eternity sufficient
To repose from such a toil as mine?